


The nadir of their fortunes

by lollipop_swirls



Series: Nadir [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M, rivarmin - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-13 13:38:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1228438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lollipop_swirls/pseuds/lollipop_swirls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At a particular low point, Armin will grasp at almost anything to make himself feel better</p>
            </blockquote>





	The nadir of their fortunes

Armin took a moment to stare at the sliver of moon he could just see over the top of the wall, before once again taking up his fighting stance; jab-jab-cross-jab; jab-cross-roundhouse; push kick-jab-cross; jab-hook-cross; jab-cross-roundhouse; jab-jab-cross-jab. Breathing heavily, he reached for the towel at his feet and wiped the sweat from his face. 

Even though he'd already been at it for hours, and his body was feeling the strain, he was determined to continue until he got it right, until it was tight. With battle simulation swiftly approaching, he had to make damned sure he was at the top of his game. There was no room for error and no time for slacking.

Throwing the towel down, he stepped back into stance, elbows bent at 90 degrees, his fists in front of his chin.

"You need to keep your feet shoulder width apart," someone said from behind him and in his surprise he almost fell out of stance completely. "And you need to pivot with your punch."

Keeping his fists up in front of this chin, he went into his first combo: jab-jab-cross-jab, but this time he paid extra attention to his footwork; jab-hook-cross. The punches definitely went further.

"Better." 

Armin stopped and turned around. The man now standing in front of him looked familiar, but he couldn't work out where he recognised him from.

"Thank you for your advice." Armin said, picking up his water bottle and taking a few quick swigs.

"It's nothing." the man replied, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a packet of cigarettes. Armin watched as he lit a match and held it to the tip of the cigarette, breathing in deeply, before letting the smoke out in a slow exhale. "This won't help you in battle simulation, y'know."

"I know," Armin muttered. "But I have to do something."

The man stared at him, his gaze sharp and enquiring.

"I'm sorry," Armin eventually broke the silence, shaking his head a little. "I feel as if I know you from somewhere, have we met before?"

Now the gaze turned amused, and his lips twisted into a slight sneer.

"If you don't know who I am, that's fine with me."

Armin swallowed uncertainly.

"Did you want to use the training ring?"

"I had thought of it,"

Armin nodded and reached down to collect his things, stuffing them quickly into this bag, oddly conscious now of the man watching him. When Armin stood back up, the man flicked away the butt of his finished cigarette and picked up one of the training pads, throwing it at Armin, who caught it, just barely.

"Hold that for me."

It sounded like an order, and seeing as Armin didn't know who he was talking to, he decided to treat it as one.

It was obvious from the start that the man knew a thing or two and the skill he demonstrated put Armin instantly to shame; the power in his kicks alone were enough to keep pushing Armin back, and his punches were just as powerful; watching him, Armin realised, with a pang, he still had a long way to go. 

Watching him, Armin also realised that it was possible for a person to be both powerful and graceful at the same time; the sweat gleaming on his skin and the sharp exhales of breath each time he made contact with the pad, the tang of hard exercise on the air; it was all quite mesmerising.

"Throw me your towel," 

Armin did. 

He wiped the sweat from his face and arms, cricked his neck muscles, first right, then left, shook out his arms and then fell into fighting stance. Armin stared at him dubiously for a long moment, but when he motioned with two fingers for Armin to join him on the mat, he put down the training pad, and stepped into position, taking up his own fighting stance.

Before they started, the one clear thought in Armin's head was: this is going to be really bad; and he wasn't entirely wrong. But, as he hit the mat again and again and again, it wasn't frustration that he began to feel, it was more of an exhilaration; as the man expertly overpowered him and took him down time after time, he started to feel aroused. 

The man began with a jab-hook-cross, Armin blocked and parried with a jab-jab-cross, the man countered with a jab-cross-roundhouse; Armin caught his knee and moved in with a side swipe, destabilising them both and bringing them crashing down to the mat, one on top of the other. 

Panting heavily from the exertion, Armin stared up at him, acutely aware of the man's weight pinning him down. The man scowled down at him in silence for a time, and then slowly sat back to straddle Armin's waist.

"Not bad," the man breathed, using the back of his hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead.

Armin tried to shift position beneath him, but in doing so he only succeeded in brushing up against him and, in that instant, Armin knew, the damage was done, especially when the scowl of annoyance, turned into a knowing smirk.

"I see," the man murmured. "You like it rough, eh?"

Armin couldn't honestly say how he liked it, this being the first time he had ever really felt this way, and he blushed profusely, twisting to get away, but the man clenched his knees tighter around Armin's waist and refused to let him up; then, shifting his own position slightly, he moved to rub his own hard cock against Armin's.

Armin gasped, loudly.

The man exhaled on a laugh and leaned down over him, which seeing as they were practically the same height, brought them face to face. Armin stared straight up into his eyes and fought the urge to run; after all, just how far could this go when they were out in the training field where anyone could see them (if anyone had been foolish enough to still be awake at this time in the early morning, that was).

The question was clearly written in his eyes and when Armin instinctively rubbed up against him, the man took that as all the answer he needed; pressing their cold lips together, he moved his hands down to start unfastening the belts at Armin's waist. Armin moaned as they rubbed against each other and, despite the logical part of his brain telling him to stop and think about what he was doing, he went with irrational part of his brain which was telling him that in all likelihood he'd be flunked out of battle simulation in the next few days and shipped back to the settlement, so what did it matter.

He'd never experienced the feel of someone else's tongue sliding over his own, wrestling with it, sucking on it; it tasted like cigarettes; the man nipped at his lower lip and Armin whimpered, thrusting upwards, desperate for more contact. The man was more than happy to oblige, having already divested him of his belts, he expertly popped open Armin's trousers and reached inside, his calloused fingers wrapping around Armin's cock and squeezing hard. 

Armin gasped into his mouth. 

With a breath of a laugh, the man swiped his tongue lazily over Armin's lips and then licked his own; kneeling back between Armin's legs, he fumbled with his trousers, pulling his own cock free. 

They stared at each other for a slow, contemplative moment, before he once again leant forward over Armin, deliberately bringing their hard cocks together, sliding up along him at such an unhurried pace it made Armin want to scream. Instead, Armin threw back his head and bit his lower lip; the man lightly nibbled at his neck.

"You taste dirty." the man breathed. 

Armin felt dirty.

And then they were rutting against each other, all pretence forgotten, replaced by a desperate, hot, hard, need. Armin wrapped his legs around the man's waist, pulling him in closer; hands resting on either side of Armin's head, he leaned in for another kiss; claiming Armin entirely.

Armin could feel the power in him, could feel the muscles in his torso tight against him, could feel his undeniable strength - and it very quickly made him come undone.

He felt it coming in the tightening of his muscles, in the burning surge, almost so strong it was painful - he needed so desperately for it to end but it just kept getting hotter. He wrapped his ankles together over the man's back, his body so tight he thought it might break and then he came so hard he had to stifle his scream by biting into his hand; he came so hard, he couldn't breathe.

It was only once he was able to breathe properly again that he realised the man was watching him with an intensity in his eyes that made Armin want to hide. In his own post-orgasmic haze he hadn't even noticed when the man had come, but the evidence of both their spunk was splattered across his shirt, making it stick uncomfortably to his stomach.

After a time, the man moved to straddled his waist; reaching into his pocket, he once again pulled out the packet of cigarettes. 

"Who has eyes like that anyway?" he muttered, more to himself than Armin, as he took a long drag on the cigarette and let it out, the smoke enveloping them both.

Armin could completely understand the sentiment, having watched the man's go from grey to black and then slowly back to grey again.

"I should get back to the barracks," Armin ventured, experimentally trying to pull himself out from under the man. 

Now that it was done, Armin just wanted to get as far away as possible. 

The man didn't stop him. 

Armin could feel his gaze on him as he used the towel to wipe the gunk from his clothes; he could feel his gaze as he picked up his bag and turned towards the dark hulk of the barracks in the distance; he could feel his gaze and he knew that he couldn't just leave it like that and walk away.

Turning at the last moment, his cheeks now burning red, he met the steady gaze. The man was now standing with his arms crossed loosely at his chest, and Armin would have been hard pressed, if he didn't already know what they'd just been doing, to have guessed. Every so often he saw the dull orange of the cigarette move up to his lips but otherwise he was in tones of grey and black.

Now that they were facing each other, Armin had no idea what to say; the fact that they hadn't spoken more than a handful of words to each other throughout the whole encounter, becoming blatantly obvious. The moments dragged on uncomfortably. When it was clear neither of then was going to talk, Armin gave a small shrug of his shoulders, followed by a slight sheepish smile, and then he did turn and walk away.

But, with each step he took, he was slowly overcome by the illogical fear that, even though he knew it was very unlikely he'd ever see this man again, he'd have to deal with the fallout from this at some point. 

He ducked his head and walked faster.

He didn't look back.

**Author's Note:**

> nadir = lowest point


End file.
